


the beauty in the world, the beauty of you

by frosmxths



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: (in a way), (though the magic is not too present in this fic!), Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosmxths/pseuds/frosmxths
Summary: Little afternoons together turn to whispers at night, turn to talking about dreams and what they’ve left behind, all in the little practice room and under flickering fluorescent lights—little afternoons of rest together turn to Youngjo’s thoughts and dreams, to their love for music and the words they can’t say—little moments together turn into a little more, turn to Youngjo’s fascination with magic, with love— little moments together turn to Youngjo’s smile becominghome, and then Geonhak’s falling in love—
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn, minor seoho/youngjo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	the beauty in the world, the beauty of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jjxneus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjxneus/gifts).



> this work occurs parallel to [existing, living, step by step](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484910) !! not necessary to read the other work, as i believe this can stand on its own, but it adds context and whatnot if youd like to see that!
> 
> happy bday jax :>  
> thank u for being a source of strength throughout my journey writing the original fic hehe sorry its angsty, but this is for u c:

Geonhak first meets Youngjo when he’s 19, and Youngjo’s 21—when the world seems all too broken and painful, and the taste of broken dreams at the back of Geonhak’s throat burns like a bonfire—burns painful and _bright_ and all too raw—burns and sets wall Geonhak doesn’t know how to lower, walls he loses himself behind of—

Geonhak first meets Youngjo inside a small practice room, with the smell of sweat and the buzz of music in all their senses—with frustrations Geonhak lets out in dance, in words he buries deep in his heart, in front of the mirror.

(“I like your hair” Youngjo’s voice is kind—it’s the first time Geonhak’s heard him talk, always seeming to lose him with the crowd and the noise—always seeming to lose him as he melded into the background, all soft smiles and fluffy curls over wide eyes. “You don’t have water with you, right?”

Geonhak only nods dumbly—mutters out a quiet _thank you_ as he takes the bottle Youngjo offers him—mutters out a quiet _whatever_ with a shrug when Youngjo asks, all bright-eyed and beautiful, if he can sit next to Geonhak during their rest.

And Geonhak never tells him, but he keeps his hair the same shade of blue for the next few months because of Youngjo—because Youngjo seemed to like it, because Youngjo had approached him, because Geonhak had started to hate it like he hated the world, but Youngjo had shown him _beauty—_ )

Little afternoons together turn to whispers at night, turn to talking about dreams and what they’ve left behind, all in the little practice room and under flickering fluorescent lights—little afternoons of rest together turn to Youngjo’s thoughts and dreams, to their love for music and the words they can’t say—little moments together turn into a little more, turn to Youngjo’s fascination with magic, with love— little moments together turn to Youngjo’s smile becoming _home,_ and then Geonhak’s falling in love—

(It hits him when he’s 21, and Youngjo’s 23—hits him when Youngjo calls him in the middle of the night, even though Geonhak never answers any phone calls, and tells him about vampires he so wished to meet—

It’s not new, it’s not something abnormal—it’s something that happens every day—it’s what Geonhak’s grown used to over the last two years—

It’s not new, it’s not weird—it is, and that’s all—

And because it is, because Geonhak finds himself sighing in annoyance as he takes his jacket and keys to leave the house, because Geonhak finds himself meeting up with Youngjo a little past midnight— even though both of them like waking up early, rather than sleeping late—, because Geonhak finds himself letting Youngjo takes his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because Geonhak feels nothing but _warmth_ in the middle of winter—with Youngjo’s laughter and the distant buzz of magic in the streets at night—Geonhak realizes.

He doesn’t know when he fell in love, but he can remember when he finds out—remembers Youngjo tripping back, scared by a little cat with eyes much like Youngjo’s own, and taking hold of Geonhak’s jacket to just _not fall_ — remembers fluffy hair standing up on end, remembers pretty black curls and the world reflected in pretty pretty eyes—

He can remember that, clear as day, and he holds it dear to his heart).

Things don’t change, and Geonhak doesn’t change—not like that, but maybe in other ways—

Things don’t change, and time passes by—things between them don’t change, and they meet new people in their lives—

Things don’t change, until they do—

(“I’m surprised, you know?” It’s late at night, Seoho’s not out with them today, and they’re sitting on a little rickety table in front of a convenience store. Geonhak quirks an eyebrow up, fingers tapping at his water bottle and beat of a lost song at the back of his mind. Youngjo gives him a smile, a little laugh—one that makes his hair move together with the air, a soft cloud that curls all pretty and cute. “You’ve never dated anyone, not since I met you”

“Oh” Geonhak lets his bottle _tap_ against the table—muted plastic on dirty glass—and shrugs, looks at anywhere but at Youngjo. “Just hasn’t happened, I guess” and his heart is a metre and ten too fast, and his hands sweat together with the back of his neck—

“Even though you’re so cute” and Youngjo sighs, leans his face on his hands—elbows to the table and cheeks squished together— “I wonder why”

“You haven’t, either” deadpan, careful—Geonhak’s not sure where this is going—Geonhak’s not _sure_ where he wants this to be going—

“I haven’t liked anyone new” a hum, Youngjo’s eyes falling closed—pretty smile on his face, pretty hair to his forehead. “No one’s as cute as you”

“Gross” and Geonhak feels the tips of his ears _burn—_ feels red that takes over his face as he looks away and Youngjo laughs, soft and pretty—the most beautiful in the world— “You’re gross, hyung”

“It’s true” Youngjo laughs, leans back and opens his eyes again—looks at Geonhak like he _means_ it, like Geonhak really is the cutest, like Geonhak _really_ has his heart—

But Geonhak can’t believe it—Youngjo’s flirty, _greasy—_ Youngjo professes his love to everyone without batting an eye, and Youngjo loves everyone the same and gives up his heart—

Geonhak’s not special—but he’s fine with that—he’s always been fine with that.

“I do like someone, though” a little whisper, a shy smile—feelings lost behind cold colours and the melody of the night—feelings lost to Geonhak’s breathing and the sound of his heart.

“You do?” and he ignores the shattering of his fragile heart—ignores the wish to be special and selfishness in his feelings—ignores the prick of tears with a tilt of his head, a scrunch of his nose that makes Youngjo laugh—

“Yeah” and Youngjo’s hands drop on the table, reach towards Geonhak’s all too careful, too scared, too _hurt—_ “He likes someone else, though” Geonhak pouts, Youngjo gives him a smile—reassurance, care—“Should I tell him, anyway?”

_I don’t want to see you hurt— I don’t want to see you cry—I don’t want to—_

“I think you should” he takes Youngjo’s hand in his, gives the best smile he can muster—all too soft and full of the love he just can’t _give—_

And Youngjo smiles, all bright and wondering—and he squeezes Geonhak’s hand tighter—and he mutters _thanks_ and nothing else—

And Geonhak’s heart is in his throat—and his feelings are all too much—

And he pushes them back down, all over again.)

Seoho likes Hwanwoong, Hwanwoong likes Dongju—Youngjo likes Seoho, and Geonhak likes Youngjo—

It’s dramatic and a little too stupid, but Geonhak tries to pay it no mind.

Things don’t change—they never do—he still sees Youngjo every day, he still lets Youngjo sleep on his shoulder on the cramped couch of their rented studio, he still bickers with Seoho until ungodly hours of the night—

And Geonhak’s still in love, and Youngjo’s still in love—and Seoho’s still in pain and all too much in love—and they talk and bicker and ignore their feelings, and nothing changes until it _does_.

It starts with little touches and whispers—starts with Seoho letting Youngjo hug him close, lets Youngjo kiss at his neck and sit on his lap—

It starts with Youngjo’s lovesick and pained looks—starts with Youngjo taking Seoho’s hands—with fall feeling all too cold against Geonhak’s senses—with wind that Seoho summons without thinking all too sharp, too loud, too _bright—_

Geonhak’s slow, but he’s not blind—Geonhak’s slow, but he’s always been watching Youngjo—Geonhak’s slow, but he’s always been in _love—_

(“Can I…ask you something?” he’s scared, he’s unsure— wind hits at his eyes when Seoho turns— wind hits at his eyes and they all stop walking—

“Shoot” Seoho’s smiling—like always—all light-hearted as he cocks his head to the side the slightest bit, wind behind him a whirlwind that pushes Youngjo’s hair up—held hands in Seoho’s pocket, still.

Geonhak gives a smile—no doubt awkward, no doubt confused—scratches at the back of his head and turns turns turn _turns so many words—_ “Are you guys—” and he looks down at the floor, stops—lets his hand fall and stay in the air—lets his words shape and make _sense_ before he can even speak— “like, together?” with a frown, a quick glance up—a second before he goes back to the floor—a second before he goes back up to Seoho and then Youngjo again.

And the wind’s loud—and Seoho looks scared, too—scared and tense tense _tense_ as Youngjo’s breath hitches and the trees are loud loud _loud_ against the park and the night and their _thoughts and—_

“Yeah” Youngjo’s voice a delicate thing—so soft, so quiet—a delicate thing that stops all the wind—a delicate thing like an arrow, beautiful and deadly and straight to Geonhak’s heart—

And he’s _smiling—_ smiling so breath-taking, so _pretty—_ smiling in the way that makes everything stir—in the way that makes Geonhak’s heart heal, patches up the wounds, the pain, the _thoughts—_

“Oh” He blinks at nothing, swallows it all down, leaves it aside—“Since—since when?” and he knew, but he’s _still—_

“A week?” and Seoho’s smile is almost _sad—_ crooked and fragile as he shrugs too nonchalantly.

“Ah” and Geonhak blinks again—eyes unfocused and focused again—a glance up at Seoho, a glance up at Youngjo, all wide eyes and unshed tears— “Congrats?” he pushes his hair back, ignores the way his voice _breaks—_ the way it all burns and turns into _nothing_ —

Youngjo laughs, awkward, pretty, and Geonhak feels like an idiot.

“Thank you” Geonhak’s not sure which of them says it—he only smiles back, hands in his pockets and world all too loud—he only walks besides them, like they always have, even if the wind is a storm—

He can’t look them in the eye the rest of the night—not because he doesn’t like that they’re _dating_ , but because it doesn’t feel _right—_

Not because Geonhak’s jealous, not because Geonhak’s _hurt_ —

Something just doesn’t fit—the puzzles pieces aren’t right—the world is all too loud and the wind is strong—the world is all to loud and there’s fire in their breath, little blue sparks that snap and get lost in the air—

Something isn’t _right,_ but Geonhak feels guilty for even _thinking_ that—

Maybe he’s just jealous, but—when he bids them goodbye with a mumbled _good night_ —he can only hope that Youngjo doesn’t cry.)

\----

Something’s not right—but it’s not about Youngjo, and it’s not about _Geonhak—_

Something’s not right, and it’s about Seoho—

Geonhak knows about him, knows a little about magic and about fire and wind—Geonhak knows that Seoho’s mischievous and a little too _much_ , knows that he’s hard to understand and grasp no matter what—knows, too, that Seoho’s not clumsy, that he knows what he’s doing, that he keeps _control—_

But that’s not true anymore.

Whenever Seoho and Youngjo kiss, Geonhak can feel the fire—whenever Seoho and Youngjo kiss, Geonhak can feel the pain—

Whenever Seoho and Youngjo kiss, the burns and the bandages on Seoho’s skin increase— Seoho hides it, pretends it’s not there, pretends that he’s fine—

But Geonhak’s not dumb.

(“Is Seoho-hyung okay?” The studio feels more cramped than usual—feels tense through the lull of the music—feels tense to the sound of the synth—

Youngjo blinks at him, hair a mess and eyes lacking sleep. “Yeah” breathy, tired—Geonhak can tell it’s a lie. “He’s just being clumsy”

Geonhak doesn’t have it in him to ask—Geonhak doesn’t have it in him to insist—

All he can do is nod—all he can do is take Youngjo’s hand—all he can do is let Youngjo sleep on his lap, on the same cramped old couch, and ignore his tears as they fall.)

And things change—and things won’t stop changing—and Youngjo cries at the studio, and Youngjo cries at home—

And things change—and things won’t _stop changing_ —

Geonhak doesn’t know what to do.

(“Geonhakkie” soft, tired—Geonhak gives him a hum, a careful pat on the back. “I don’t know what to do”

“With?” Youngjo frowns, hands held together tight _tight_ over crossed legs, hair tickling at Geonhak’s neck and chest.

“Seoho” and Youngjo’s breath hitches—and his voice wavers and and _and—_ “It all just—” a breath, a second—Youngjo’s face to Geonhak’s neck and his hands to Geonhak’s _jacket and—_ “I don’t _know”_

Geonhak’s eyes _burn—_ there’s anger and there’s sadness and there’s something something _something and—_

And Youngjo _breaks_ , hands to his skin and voice turned to nothing nothing _nothing and—_

_It hurts—_

_It all hurts—)_

Youngjo cries until he can’t anymore—Geonhak stays with him all the while.

Geonhak stays, lets Youngjo lean on him—lets Youngjo talk, all nonsense and things that Geonhak can’t understand—all nonsense and things that don’t feel like _love,_ not like that—

Geonhak stays and, eventually, Youngjo can breathe again—head on Geonhak’s laps and eyes all too _red,_ smile something sad and fragile and filled with all the world’s beauty—

(“Tomorrow” Youngjo sounds sleepy, _calm—_ Geonhak hums in reply, lets his hand run through Youngjo’s hair—“if I talk to him tomorrow, will you be there for me?”

_I’m always here for you—_

_I’d never leave—_

And he swallows his promises back down, ruffles Youngjo’s hair with an all too quiet _yeah—)_

Youngjo breaks up with Seoho the next day—at night—when it’s all too late and the world is too quiet—

(“Come over tomorrow?” and Youngjo sounds pained and yet so much _lighter—_ sounds like the world’s turned on its axis and come back together—sounds like he’s _himself_ again—

“Sure.” And things feel _right_ again, somehow, even when they just _shouldn’t—)_

Geonhak doesn’t really get it, but he feels lighter, too—

Geonhak doesn’t really get it, but it all comes back together again—Geonhak doesn’t really get it, but all that changed suddenly feels less foreign, less scary, less _wrong—_

\----

The walk to Youngjo’s place the next day is familiar, peaceful—no one celebrates proper Christmas, but the streets are still full of colourful lights and decorations that fill the mid-December air.

The walk to Youngjo’s place is cold, scary—

The walk to Youngjo’s place feels too long, too short—

And then Geonhak’s at the door, and the number over it is faded and familiar—and the doorbell’s still broken, and the world’s still _cold—_

And Youngjo opens the door, and nothing matters anymore—

(“You look so tense” Youngjo’s voice is still raspy—at the edges of sleep—even as he smiles, playful and kind—

“Are you okay?” and Youngjo _laughs_ , sweet and _perfect_ —takes Geonhak’s hand in his with so much care and _love_ _and—_

And, for a second, it feels like it’s _Geonhak_ who just had his heart shattered—like it’s Geonhak who needs careful hands and support, like it isn’t Youngjo that’s standing there with red eyes and the ghost of his tears—

Geonhak walks in without letting go for even a second.)

“There’s something—something I need to tell you” they’re sitting in the living room, close enough their knees bump together when Youngjo turns to look at him—eyes wide and a little _scared—_ “Will you listen to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” A crooked smile, a nervous hand to the back of Geonhak’s neck—Youngjo laughs, gives a playful nod—lets his fingers linger on Geonhak’s face before he falls back—

(Geonhak waits.

It takes time—their phones a muted sound against cloth—their breathing close to snapping—the sound of the city and of nothing against the cold—

And then Youngjo talks.)

“I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have dated Seoho” he grips at the couch, his clothes—Geonhak only listens. “I liked him, he asked me out—it—it all sounds fine, but” his voice breaks, comes back—Youngjo breathes in, continues. “He didn’t like me—He just didn’t like me, Geonhak, and—”

“Then why the _hell—”_ And Geonhak doesn’t mean to get _mad—_ doesn’t mean to interrupt and doesn’t mean to doesn’t mean to _doesn’t mean to_ even speak _but—_ “Why the hell did he even—”

“Don’t—” and Geonhak doesn’t even notice he’s tensed up—doesn’t even notice he’s about to stand up until Youngjo’s hands are on his, all too shaky and so _so cold—_ “Please don’t be—don’t be mad at him, I—”

“Why _wouldn’t I—”_

“I knew he didn’t like me” and it’s the loudest Geonhak’s ever heard him—and yet still so soft, delicate—so scared and broken _and—_ “I knew, he told me… I said yes, it wasn’t him, it was—it was me” and then it’s so _quiet—_ a whisper as Youngjo looks down, lets go of Geonhak to move further away—

“Don’t—don’t say that, you—” and Geonhak’s not good at words—Geonhak’s not good at words and he just wants wants _wants to—_ wants to tell Youngjo that it’s not his fault, it’ll never be his fault, it’s _not—_

But his words won’t come out—and he’s angry, and he’s confused—and he’s lost and it _hurts and it burns and—_

He reaches out for Youngjo’s hands before he can move away further—takes them in his to the sound of Youngjo’s breathing—

“I knew I’d get hurt” Youngjo’s hands are tense, _cold—_ Geonhak holds on tighter, and Youngjo smiles. “But I—I guess I wanted to try—try to see if I could… help him hurt less, could—” and he chokes—swallows back tears and breathes so so _shaky—_ "get him to love me or—or could get myself to just, love him _more,_ then—”

Geonhak’s world stills—Youngjo lets their fingers intertwine, all too tense, too shaky, too _cold, so cold—_

“Then I could stop hurting—maybe could even—even forget that I love you, and—” Geonhak’s mind _runs—_ turns and comes back and and _and and—_

“Forget… forget that you—” and Youngjo’s eyes fall on Geonhak’s—as kind as ever, as beautiful as ever—and Geonhak’s throat feels dry, and their held hands are so _tight—_

“I’m in love with you, still” and he smiles—something sad, something broken—something Geonhak wants to just _take away—_ “I love you too much, I couldn’t forget” a whisper—painful, quiet, broken and turning turning _turning and—_

“Why—” Kilometre a second—off and back on—away and back to himself—Geonhak breathes, but he _can’t_ —Geonhak talks, but he _can’t_ —he _can’t_ _he can’t he can’t—_

“I can’t—I can’t bear hurting you” Youngjo’s hold weakens, but Geonhak doesn’t let go—“I don’t want to hurt you—lose you because I—because I fucked something up, but—" he breathes in, eyes bright with tears and everything shattered _shattered—_ “But I just—Love you too much—and I want you to _know_ because I just—I just want to love you and—”

“I love you, too” quiet—Geonhak doesn’t mean to say it, not like this, not so _bluntly—_ but that’s how he is, how he’s always been, and he wants Youngjo to _know—_ “I really… do love you, too”

A second of silence—a second of running thoughts—of hands held together tight enough to _hurt,_ of breathing that breaks and shatters and tears that burn _burn burn_ and _fall—_

“You don’t need to forget me, you” and Geonhak’s so bad with _words_ and with _feelings, but—_ but he _needs—_ needs Youngjo to _know—_ “You won’t hurt me, you—you can love me and—and you won’t fuck up and—just— _hyung”_

“I don’t?” broken, careful, _quiet—_ Geonhak only makes a noise, lets himself fall forward—fall until his head hits Youngjo’s, careless and painful _and—_

“You don’t” and his face is _burning_ and Geonhak’s fucking _crying too but—_ “You can love me—you can—I can—” and he’s trying trying _trying_ but he’s never been good at talking and _saying and and and—_

“Oh” and their hands won’t let go—and Youngjo’s cold but all too warm—and Youngjo’s shattered and yet so _beautiful—_ “I didn’t know” with a little laugh, something broken, painful, _perfect—_

“I—I was scared—I was—” _scared scared scared because because because—_

Because Youngjo had given him everything beautiful in the world—because Youngjo had taken his hand and brought him back to _living—_ because Youngjo had been there for him and Youngjo had listened and Youngjo _Youngjo Youngjo—_

“So was I” and Youngjo leans in—and their words are lost and their thoughts won’t wont _won’t stop turning and—_

Geonhak leans in—and it’s soft, scared—it’s a hundred feelings and it’s a hundred years—

And it’s falling in love, all over again—but, this time, they’re together.

(And it’s not perfect—and Geonhak’s still confused, still angry— and Youngjo’s still sad, still a little heart-broken—

But it’s okay—they’re together, it’s okay—

And Seoho’s still an idiot, and things are awkward, and things aren’t fine—

But, hands held together and with little secrets in whispers—with moments together against the lull of the night, with secrets and love on their lips and their touch— things are _okay—_

Things aren’t perfect, but things are _okay—_ and they’re in love, and they’re together—

The world is cold, but things are _okay—_

(“Don’t be too mad at Seoho?” with a little kiss to Geonhak’s cheek, Youngjo’s fluffy hair tickling at Geonhak’s face—“He’s going through his own shit” a little pout, playful even through teary eyes—

Geonhak sighs, lets Youngjo’s lips fall over his—lets their fingers intertwine and his breathing _calm—_ “He’s still an idiot” a frown—one Youngjo places kisses over, too loving, too _greasy_ , too much and too little— “I’m still mad—”

“We’re idiots too” and a laugh, a smile—Geonhak lets out a huff, fake anger, squeezes Youngjo’s hand—

“But less” petulant, maybe—but it makes Youngjo laugh, nod and hum in agreement, warm and cold and _warm_ against Geonhak’s skin, thoughts, _love—)_

And they fall asleep together with promises and love—and they fall asleep together with the puzzle pieces in place, even if not perfect—

And it’s all okay, and they’re just in love.

(“I love you” a kiss, a hand to Geonhak’s face—a breath of laughter, embarrassment—heat to Geonhak’s face and ears—a frown of fake annoyance that can’t hide his smile.

“I love you, too” and another kiss, and another smile—)

And they fall asleep together in the middle of the day, misses classes and appointments—miss the outside and hide—but, for now, their own little world is the best.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)


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